I see. I will write to you afterwards if I may."

He began to stammer. "Miss Schlegel--Margaret you don't understand."

"Oh yes! Indeed, yes!" said Margaret.

"I am asking you to be my wife."

So deep already was her sympathy, that when he said, "I am asking you
to be my wife," she made herself give a little start. She must show
surprise if he expected it. An immense joy came over her. It was
indescribable. It had nothing to do with humanity, and most resembled
the all-pervading happiness of fine weather. Fine weather is due to the
sun, but Margaret could think of no central radiance here. She stood in
his drawing-room happy, and longing to give happiness. On leaving him
she realised that the central radiance had been love.

"You aren't offended, Miss Schlegel?"

"How could I be offended?"

There was a moment's pause. He was anxious to get rid of her, and she
knew it. She had too much intuition to look at him as he struggled for
possessions that money cannot buy. He desired comradeship and affection,
but he feared them, and she, who had taught herself only to desire, and
could have clothed the struggle with beauty, held back, and hesitated
with him.

"Good-bye," she continued. "You will have a letter from me--I am going
back to Swanage to-morrow."

"Thank you."

"Good-bye, and it's you I thank."

"I may order the motor round, mayn't I?"

"That would be most kind."

"I wish I had written. Ought I to have written?"

"Not at all."

"There's just one question--"

She shook her head. He looked a little bewildered as they parted.

They parted without shaking hands; she had kept the interview, for his
sake, in tints of the quietest grey. She thrilled with happiness ere
she reached her house. Others had loved her in the past, if one apply
to their brief desires so grave a word, but the others had been
"ninnies"--young men who had nothing to do, old men who could find
nobody better. And she had often 'loved,' too, but only so far as
the facts of sex demanded: mere yearnings for the masculine sex to be
dismissed for what they were worth, with a sigh. Never before had her
personality been touched. She was not young or very rich, and it amazed
her that a man of any standing should take her seriously as she sat,
trying to do accounts in her empty house, amidst beautiful pictures and
noble books, waves of emotion broke, as if a tide of passion was flowing
through the night air. She shook her head, tried to conc